


'Til the End of the Line

by jewelswrites_ish



Series: 'Til the End of the Line [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Steve Rogers AU - Freeform, Steve Rogers Crime AU, Steve Rogers x Reader - Freeform, steve rogers - Freeform, steve rogers x y/n - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 21:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelswrites_ish/pseuds/jewelswrites_ish
Summary: During a bank robbery, you’re surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only later do you learn that your high school sweetheart now runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a ‘No Harm’ list. You decide to pay them a visit after all these years to try and stop the madness.





	'Til the End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 2.1k  
> Warnings: robbery tw; death tw

It all happened so fast. Sitting on the floor of the bank, eye contact was out of the question as the masked figures barked orders, assault rifles held tightly in their hands. It figured the one day you took a day off work to run errands would be the day a bank robbery took place with you in it.

 

“Get down!” One of the robbers yelled, pointing their weapon at the teller after they opened their drawer.

 

“Hurry up!”

 

“Two minutes and counting!”

 

“Almost done!”

 

“Shut up!” Yelling came from all around as bank patrons begged for their lives, tears streaming from women’s faces; men looking for a way out. However, you sat where you were told to sit, your gaze on the linoleum ground trying hard to mentally escape. There was nothing you could do to alleviate the situation; it was better off leaving the robbers do their thing and survive.

 

“Wait a minute…”

 

“We don’t have time!”

 

“I said wait!” An eerie silence fell over the room, everyone frozen as who appeared to be the lead robber crept closer. You kept still, your body tensing as the masked man knelt down in front of you, placing a gloved finger under your chin. It was then when you looked up to him, connecting your frightened gaze with his green hues. Though he hid behind a ski mask, his wide eyes were noticeable as a look of recognition flashed. “Abort,” he commanded, taking a few steps back from you. The other men began to question him, refusing to stop what they started. “I said MOVE! She’s on the list!”

 

“Who the hell is it?”

 

“It’s Y/N.” Eyes widened from hearing your name spill from the masked criminal, you daringly rose to your feet, grabbing onto his arm.

 

“How do you know my name?”

 

He was hesitant in his answer, but he claimed to have known you - causing your body to freeze once more. The voice wasn’t familiar, the eyes didn’t hold your gaze. And yet, your legs chased after the men, mind buzzing wildly with questions. None were able to be answered as you pushed open the double doors, stopping as you watched the robbers held at gunpoint as police cruisers surrounded the area.

 

You watched as policemen arrested the criminals, the others rushing inside to assess the damage. It was going to be a long day for sure, but first and foremost, you needed to track down an address to find a way to speak to the leader of the group.

 

Walking to get a better view at the now unmasked men, it shocked you to see a familiar face. Clint Barton was a face you could never forget; his resting bitch face powers were highly mocked in your high school days. More importantly, he was close with your high school sweetheart.

 

“How ironic on your first day off of your first ever vacation, and you’re in the middle of a bank robbery.” Wanda Maximoff stood beside you, a loose hand on your shoulder as her brother, Pietro, stood on the other side. The siblings had been part of your life since you joined the local police force - Pierto being an officer and Wanda, your partner, as a detective.

 

“Just shitty luck, I guess,” you answered, your eyes never once leaving Barton, who returned your gaze. If it hadn’t been for your presence in the bank they would have taken whatever it was they were looking for. This explained the glare Clint sent your way before being shoved into the back of a cruiser.

 

“Y/L/N!” Immediately you straightened as Captain Nick Fury’s voice boomed louder than anything else.

 

“Shit,” you mumbled under your breath, slowly turning to face him.

 

“What the hell happened in there?” You tried to answer. “You take off one day - the first in years - and this happens?” Again, you tried to explain, but he interrupted again. “Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did anyone take your statement yet?”

 

“Sir, if I may…” you began, holding a hand up. “I’m still a bit in shock over what happened; can Wanda take me to the station and I’ll give my statement there?” Fury looked you over once, agreeing hesitantly. “Thank you, sir.” Nodding over to Wanda, you beckoned for her to follow you to your car.

 

After getting to the station, Wanda directed you to an interrogation room where you described the events from your point of view, leaving out Clint’s recognition and his command for the men to leave. Eventually you’d have to speak about it, knowing the hostages would pin their rescue on you. Once you signed your statement, Wanda offered a comforting smile, staying with you in the room.

 

“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked softly. Shaking your head, you asked for privacy which she granted. Silence fell over the room, thankful your back was facing the two-way mirror. With arms folded across your chest, your mind traveled to places beyond. Memories began to flash of high school moments with Clint. He was a good kid; always had straight A’s along with an upstanding reputation in sports. He was on the archery team and earned the nickname ‘Hawkeye’ as he never missed the target. Clint was among the popular crowd and was voted best dressed; why had he turned everything down for a life of crime?

 

The thought haunted you and the silence suddenly became deafening. Getting to your feet, you made your way out of the melancholy room, stopping as soon as you noticed Clint being escorted into the next interrogation holding. Pietro offered you a wink before walking off, leaving Clint alone.

 

Taking the opportunity, you slipped through the closing door, immediately folding your arms across your chest. “Y/N. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” The question was rhetorically asked as Clint sat back in his seat. Wrists still cuffed and chained to the small bar in the middle of the metal table, he had limited space to move.

 

“What were you after?” you asked, bypassing his snide remark.

 

“What? No ‘it’s nice to see you again, Clint; you look good’?”

 

“What were you after?” you repeated, hoping he’d cut the crap and answer before Wanda walked in.

 

“ _You_ look good, by the way. That ass is just …” You slammed your hand down on the table, the metallic sounds vibrating in the small room.

 

“Why did you fall back?” Changing the question was done on purpose; a way to get him comfortable with you enough to reveal all.

 

Clint sighed before leaning forward in his seat - elbows pressed against the table. “He still cares about you.”

 

“Who?” you asked, not moving.

 

“You really have to ask?” Clint narrowed his eyes, his head cocking to the side. “Rogers has you on a list.” The name escaping his mouth caused your back to straighten; brows furrowed together. Steve Rogers had been your childhood sweetheart. Both sets of parents knew each other until Steve’s parents tragically passed in a car accident when he was younger. Being the kind of people they were, your parents took him in and raised him like their own until the Court system found a distant relative. In school, the two of you were inseparable. It wasn’t until college years, and you going to the police academy, when Steve ended things abruptly with no explanation.

 

“What kind of list?” you asked, quickly recomposing yourself.

 

There were rumors - whispers of an illegal business in the heart of Brooklyn run by dangerous criminals; the initials of the ‘head honcho’ were all that was to be found: S.R.

 

“A ‘do-not-touch’ list,” Clint confidently answered, wiggling his fingers. “Such a shame too; you got fucking sexy.”

 

“Cut the shit, Barton,” you interrupted with an eye roll.

 

“Last name basis? Since when…”

 

“Where is he?” you questioned harshly. “Rogers, what’s his location?”

 

“All in due time, sweetheart.” The smirk he wore settled wrong with you. Criminals were smug, but Clint was on a different level - almost as if he knew his confinement was temporary. Before you could interrogate him any farther, the door flew open revealing a pissed off Nick Fury.

 

“Y/L/N! In my office! Now!”

 

“I’ll see you soon,” Clint taunted, wiggling his fingers as a goodbye. Wanda escorted you out of the room, closing the door as you took your walk of shame into Fury’s office. Officers offered pitiful glances; you ignored each one. Something was off about Barton, but you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Even as Fury slammed the door behind him and began his scolding, your mind played over Clint’s facial expressions.

 

“Why did he keep looking at the window?” The questions was meant to be an inner monologue, however, it came out verbally, pissing Fury off even more.

 

“Are you listening to what the fuck I’m saying?” he yelled.

 

“With all due respect, sir, but no.” Fury scuffed. “Where are the others?”

 

“Excuse, the fuck out of, me?”

 

“Where are the other bank robbers?”

 

“This isn’t your case.” Fury shook his head, sitting back in his desk chair.

 

“Sir, this is serious.”

 

“I know it is; anything you said in that room could fuck up our investigation, our trial. What the hell were you thinking?” You couldn’t answer as Fury’s radio went off. An officer on the other end called for help describing a horrific scene of other boys in blue taken down; officers who were to transport the other bank robbers to the precinct.

 

Your eyes widened before throwing open the door, sprinting to the interrogation room; it was too late. An explosion blew open the door, the forces blowing it right to you, knocking you onto the ground. Debris fell from all angles, smoke quickly filling up the main offices and yells erupted from the staff. It all seemed surreal; everything moved in slow motion before blacking out.

* * *

 

Standing outside the hospital room, everything fell silent. Nurses rushed back and forth, patients called for help and doctors focused on tasks at hand. But you stood frozen with one arm crossed as the other hand covered your mouth. Inside the room laid the same bunch of red hair you saw every morning. Wanda looked almost unrecognizable with cuts, bruises and burns all over her face and body. You were too late in picking up the subtle clues; you were too late to save Wanda.

 

“I know you’re beating yourself up.” Fury had been with you for give minutes; unnoticed. During that time he watched you, peering down through his lashes, surprised your always on point senses betrayed you. “No one knew - no one could have predicted this.”

 

“There were clues,” you fought; unsettled from hearing your voice for the first time in what felt like days.

 

“You couldn’t have known…”

 

“I should have.” Your response was aggressive as you turned your back to the room. Just as Fury was going to rebuttal, you spotted Pietro. “Pietro!” Walking over to him, he embraced you in a tight hug.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Not better, not worse.” Pietro nodded and said nothing else as he made his way toward the room. Due to the extent of the bruises and Wanda’s low white blood count, Pietro had to dress in protective garments before seeing his sister. As he dressed, you approached Fury, informing him of your departure. It was time to return to your apartment and finally sleep after everything you had event through in just twenty-four hours.

 

“Call me if you need anything.” Fury embraced you in a tight hug, giving you the surprise of a lifetime. Fury wasn’t one to enact emotion; you had never seen him smile in the years working under him.

 

Thanking him, you made your way out of the hospital and drove home. The drive was silent; strange for someone with road rage. But the person going less than speed limit wasn’t being called every name in the book and the one tailgating you wasn’t tested on how well they could brake.

 

Upon reaching your apartment, you noticed a long white box sitting in front of the door. For a brief moment you scanned your surrounding to search for the culprit; you picked it up and entered your apartment realizing no one was around.

 

Sitting the box on the dining table, you untied the beautiful red ribbon holding it together. Inside the box rested a red rose on bright blue silk linen. Under the rose was a card with typed text; you assumed so a handwriting specialist could identify it. Picking up the card you read the nine familiar words typed on it.

 

_‘I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.’_

 


End file.
